


The Furies

by sonictrowel



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Diary of River Song 3 Spoilers, Episode: 2013 Xmas The Time of the Doctor, Episode: s07e14 The Name of the Doctor, F/F, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, For The Moment, I mean it, Post-Season/Series 07, Romance, but it's not going to be 200k long, seriously, yes i'm using goddamn chapters this time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-03-09 23:33:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13492149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonictrowel/pseuds/sonictrowel
Summary: He dragged a shaking hand across his face as another wave of grief crashed over him without warning, crushing the air from his lungs.  He’d struggled for so long to get above water, but then he saw her, he spoke to her, he held her and kissed her and told her goodbye and now he was drowning, drowning, drowning.





	1. Dark Water

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is going to be a continuing story! No, it's not going to have 84 chapters, I swear. And yes, I am actually using chapters, having had the tiniest bit of foresight in this instance.

 

The Doctor let out a heavy breath, slumping back against the outer wall of Clara’s block.  His coat snagged on the concrete, the gritty surface digging painfully into his fingertips as he mindlessly reached for some tactile distraction.  Clara was safe in her flat, with a pile of biscuits and a cup of tea that would surely be cold when she woke waiting on her bedside table.  It was, quite literally, the very least he could do for the girl who’d just rescued him by leaping into his timestream and scattering echoes of herself across infinity.  She deserved better, but for now, she’d be fine in the morning.

He dragged a shaking hand across his face as another wave of grief crashed over him without warning, crushing the air from his lungs.  He’d struggled for so long to get above water, but then he saw her, he spoke to her, he held her and kissed her and told her goodbye and now he was _drowning, drowning, drowning._

 _Oh, River._  What a fool he was, to think he could ignore her and somehow spare himself.  A selfish, cowardly old fool.  But now, the horror of her loss was fresh as the day he’d met her, with none of the hope that they still had so much more to come.  He was sinking down under the weight of their centuries together: all in the past now, all done.  His rapid, shallow breaths didn’t seem to be drawing in any air; his chest was flooding, burning, and no matter how frantically he fought against it, he only sank farther into the crushing deep—

“Alright?”  A voice shattered the roaring quiet of dark water in his ears.  If he’d been able to move at all, the Doctor might’ve jumped out of his skin.

“What?” he gasped.  His shoes had somehow skidded across the pavement, and it seemed to be mainly the friction of wool on concrete keeping him somewhat upright against the wall.

“I said, you alright?” the voice repeated brightly.  He tried to gather his wits, sliding his feet back underneath him as he raised his gaze to meet the owner of the voice.  Some part of his brain went to work analysing on auto-pilot: young woman, Northern, unfamiliar; rather brilliant dress sense, actually.

“Yeah,” he muttered absently, trying without success to convince his lungs to carry on without his direct attention, “I’m always alright.”

She snorted and leaned back against the wall beside him.  “No offence, mate,” she said, nudging her shoulder against his, “but that sounds like rubbish.”

“I’m sorry,” he sputtered, brows furrowing, _“who_ are you?”

“A question for the ages,” she replied.  “You like cake?”

“What?” the Doctor blurted again.  Most of his mind was still deep underwater.

“What am I— of course you do,” she said, shaking her head.  “Come on, then.”  She pushed off of the wall and strode down the pavement without so much as a backward glance.

That oh-so-cowardly voice in the Doctor’s head that very much didn’t like drowning was urging him: _go on, get distracted._

He scrambled after her.

“Aren’t you going to ask _my_ name?” he called, scowling as he caught up to his mysterious new companion.

“Why should I?  You wouldn’t tell me.”

“Right, so better us both be called ‘oi, you there.’  Sounds terribly efficient.”

“Well, _somebody’s_ Mr. Grumpyface today.”

The Doctor opened and closed his mouth in silent indignant surprise, but before he could form a response, she turned off of their path.

“Here we are,” she said, grasping the knob of a panelled glass door.  Funny, they weren’t half to the end of Clara’s street, but he’d never noticed a cafe there before.

A bell rang as she pushed the door open.  The aroma of coffee and oven-warm pastry washed over him as he followed her in, along with something else— something that was very familiar, but somehow eluded him at the moment.  

The girl behind the counter looked up and smiled.  “Hey, Doctor!” she called.

Now, he’d had a difficult day, but the Doctor never forgot a face.

“Er,” he mumbled, “sorry, do I—”  His new friend was already leaning over the counter and hugging the girl behind it, neither of them paying him any mind.  Oh. _She_ was the doctor, then.  

Well, _a_ doctor, obviously.  He was the only _the_ Doctor.

“Yasmin, this is my mate John,” the apparently-doctor said, and the Doctor’s frown deepened.  

“Oh my god, is he really?” Yasmin enthused, looking back and forth between them with a delighted grin.

“He’s gonna need the most chocolatey thing we’ve got.  And a pot of Earl Grey, and I’ll have a piece of… what’s this, strawberry?  Oh yes, that one, please.”

The Doctor waited in sullen silence as their food was prepared, accepted his slice of cake, and followed his new companion to a table.  He glanced back over his shoulder at Yasmin, who was practically vibrating with mute amusement.  He hated not being in on the joke.

“John?” he repeated as they sat down.

“Well, we can hardly both be called the Doctor,” she replied as she poured their tea.

“You know me.” He peered down at his cup and plate suspiciously.  It wasn’t often a good thing when other people knew him first.  With one notable exception.

“Yeah,” she chuckled, “you could say that.”  She took five sugars and passed him the bowl.  

Well, she didn’t seem too bad so far.

“If you know me, then you know that ‘the Doctor’ is, in fact, my actual name.  Whereas I assume you’ve—”

“No it’s not,” she interrupted, taking a sip of her tea.

“What?”

“’S not your real name.”

“Wha— who _are_ you?” he demanded again.

“I,” she said, leaning forward across the table, her hazel eyes boring into his, “am the Doctor.”

He stared back, mesmerised by his reflection in her eyes, as all the air went out of him again.

 _“No,”_ he whispered, cold dread spreading in his gut.

“Yes,” she replied, sitting back in her chair and grinning.  She reached into her coat pocket and withdrew a very peculiar looking device which was, nevertheless, unmistakably a sonic screwdriver.  It buzzed and lit up green, then blue.

“It’s impossible!”

“That’s a bit rich, comin’ from me,” she laughed, laying her sonic on the table and spearing a bite of pink cake.

“But I, I-I haven’t got any left, I can’t—”

“Oh, you know how it is.  Things happen.”

“No," he gasped, "No, no you don’t understand, I _can’t!”_  The rising tide of panic was filling his chest again.  “I’m _done!_  After this, no more.  I don’t _want_ any more!”

“Hey,” she laid her hand over his, and it tingled with that wrong-timey-ness just like it ought to if she was _actually him_ and oh, no, there couldn’t be more of them, he was _done!_

“I understand,” she said softly, breaking through the screaming in his brain once again, “of course I do.  Why d’you think I’m here?”

The Doctor steadied himself with great effort, drawing in a deep, shaky breath.  

“Self-pity?” he offered hoarsely.

She laughed.  “Too right.  Now eat your cake.”

Seeing no better alternatives, he obeyed.  He didn’t really taste it.

“Now, obviously you won’t remember this,” she said, far too cheerily, “but take it from me anyway: you’re gonna be okay.”

He glowered at her.  Surely she should realise how completely rubbish she was at comforting herself?  

“Really, we’ll get through it.  Things change, and things end, and we lose people, but we just keep goin’.  That’s how it’s always been.  That’s what we do: run away and move on.  After all,” she went on blithely, “this is hardly the first time—”

“It’s the _last_ time,” he growled, hearts pounding in his throat.  His trembling hand curled into a fist around his fork.  “River is _different_ , and if you don’t know that, you are not the Doctor!”

Something sparked in her eyes: a quick flash of satisfaction, and the corner of her mouth twitched up.  Oh, had he always been this insufferable?

Stupid question.

“Then what the hell are you doing here?” she demanded, pinning him with a suddenly sharp stare.

“I— where else should I be?” he stammered.

“With your wife, you idiot!”  The china jostled as her palm hit the table.

The Doctor gaped at her.

“You really want to leave it like that?  To leave _her?_  She’s been waiting for you all this time!”

“But, she’s, she’s not really—”

“No,” she snapped, jabbing her finger menacingly in his direction, “don’t you even start.  Don’t you dare.  That’s rubbish and you know it!  It’s _her._  It’s _her_ memories, _her_ emotions, her brilliance and sass and bravery and her love—” her voice quivered, bright eyes glittering in the warm light of the cafe.  “It’s _River._  When she died, that’s where she went, where _we_ left her.  That’s where she’s been all along; stuck, waiting, while _we_ were busy bein’ a massive—”

“Alright!” the Doctor shouted, head in his hands.  “I… I know.  I just saw her.  I _know._  But if I see her again, I have to lose her again.  I, I can’t keep doing this.  Every time, I think it’s going to kill me.”  He shook his head as tears stung his eyes.  “I can’t keep saying goodbye.”

His future self sighed.  “I know,” she said, gently.  “But you’re not finished yet.  You’re just gonna have to trust me.”

When he looked up again, he could see the pain and understanding in her face.  She knew.  Of course she knew.  She was him.

And she knew something else she wasn’t telling him.

“Why?” the Doctor asked, the first treacherous flicker of hope catching in the pit of his stomach.  “Why are you here, telling me this?”

“Well, for one, if you think the universe is lettin’ you out of taking your wife on a date you’ve been promising her for centuries, you’ve got another think coming.”

His mouth went dry.

“But that’s a lifetime away, yet.  I’m here now for the River you just said goodbye to.  Cause she deserves better.  So before you forget all about this, you’re gonna go get her.  And you’re gonna ask her to tell you a story.”

“What story?” the Doctor rasped.

“The story of the Furies.”

“The Furies,” he repeated, frowning and shaking his head.  “I already know that story.”

All those nights when she was still young and new, feral and vulnerable, when he never quite knew which side he was going to get.  All he could do when she woke up shaking and gasping for breath was hold her close, soothing her with soft kisses, whispering again and again that she was safe.  That he’d never let anything harm her.

Rule One, even then.  He already had.

“You don’t know this bit yet,” his future self said, wrenching him away from the bittersweet memories.  “But I’m sure you’d rather hear it from her than from me.”

“Oh,” he said, clearing his throat and reaching for his teacup.  “…Sorry.  You’re— brilliant, actually.  Love the coat and braces.”  She laughed appreciatively.  “I just wasn’t expecting…”

“Anyone.  I know.”

“Any hints about how that happens?”

She ‘tsk’ed scoldingly.  “What d’you think?”

“Right,” the Doctor sighed, “of course not.”  He sipped his tea and tried to gather his overwhelmed thoughts into some semblance of order.  Something was clamouring for attention in the mess, shoving its way to the front of his brain.  Something he hadn’t quite been able to put his finger on—

His teacup clattered as he hastily returned it to its saucer.  “This is the TARDIS!”

She laughed again.  “Took you long enough.”

“You fixed the chameleon circuit?!” he cried incredulously.

His future self regarded him calmly, pursing her lips as her eyes crinkled up at the corners.  “Does that sound like something _I’d_ do?”

“Not remotely.”

She hummed noncommittally, lifting her eyebrows and hiding a growing smile behind her teacup.

He filed that response away for further contemplation.

“Yasmin,” he said, glancing up to see that she’d disappeared from behind the counter.  “New companion?”

“One of ‘em.  She’s lovely.  Lots of coming and going these days— social calls, if you like.”

“Really?” the Doctor shook his head in disbelief.  “I tried that.  Couldn’t seem to get the hang of it.”

“Aw, it’s brilliant.  You’ll get there.  Just need a little practise.”

“And… River?” he half-whispered, looking down into his teacup.  “You say she needs to tell me a story… Why is that so important?  What happens then?”

When she didn’t answer, he finally gathered the courage to meet his future self’s gaze again across the table.

“Spoilers,” she said, and the little smile on her lips was so full of promise that the Doctor’s hearts leapt in his chest.

Maybe it wasn’t the end after all.

——

 

It was easy.  

It was disgustingly, shamefully easy, after all these years, to connect to the TARDIS’s psychic interface and think of his wife: radiant and warm as she smiled for him and whispered ‘goodbye.’  

The Old Girl found her daughter in an instant.

River gasped as she materialised in the console room, her reddened eyes immediately locking onto his.

“What is this?” she demanded, her voice trembling.  “What am I doing here?”

“Visiting your rubbish husband,” the Doctor managed to choke through his tight throat, “if you don’t mind.”

“Visiting?” she repeated, huffing out a bitter laugh, her eyes shining with tears.  “I’ve been _visiting_ you for ages and you never said a word, and now that you’ve told me to bugger off, you just decide to—”  The space between them vanished before the Doctor realised he had moved.  

 _I’m sorry_ was muffled into her mouth as his arms wound around her waist.  She whimpered, her fist connecting weakly with his shoulder once before she slid her hands up his neck and into his hair, kissing him back desperately.  He’d been so convinced, before, that he needed to say goodbye; convinced that he couldn’t let himself sink into the fantasy of still having her by his side, because once he did he’d never, ever come back.

Then his own future barged in, fed him cake, and unceremoniously tugged the rug out from under his world.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, not sure if the tears on his cheeks belonged to her or to him.  “I’m so sorry, River.  Forgive me?”

“Always,” she breathed against his lips.  “You stupid idiot.”

Without a thought, they stumbled in the direction of their bedroom, just as they had thousands of times before: after narrowly escaping an enemy with their lives; after saving the universe again; after dancing all night and racing each other back to the TARDIS, breathless and beaming.

The Doctor was vaguely aware that he was supposed to be asking her about something, but the sight of her falling back into their bed— her wild hair splayed out over the pillows, her cheeks flushed and eyes shining as she carefully reached up to cradle his face— that erased every other inkling of thought from his mind.  He needed to commit to this, to savour it, to catalogue every tiny detail and preserve them perfectly forever.

Just like River.  Saved; the same as she always had been.  Perfect.

He sank into the comfort of her embrace, face pressed against her neck, breathing in the familiar warmth of her scent.  A choked sob wrenched its way from his throat and hot tears stung his eyes as his shoulders began to shake uncontrollably.

“Shh,” she soothed, stroking his hair, turning her head to press a kiss by his ear.  “It’s okay.  I’m here.  I’m here, my love.”

_Get it together, Doctor.  This is all your bloody fault._

“River,” he whimpered, half-braced with his knees around her hips, shaking hands moving clumsily over her body, soaking in the heat of her skin through the soft fabric of her robes.  Projection of the TARDIS or no, she was so very solid and real and _god,_ he was an idiot.  “River, River, my River, I’m so sorry.”

“Hush, now,” she said, gentle hands on his face guiding his mouth back to hers.

Before, he had been drowning in the grief of her memory.  

Oh, why had he ever wanted to do such a silly thing as breathe?

She touched him like he was some fragile, frightened thing: no sudden movements, soft lips brushing warm over his double-pulse as she untied his bow tie and slipped it through his collar.

“River,” he murmured again, his lips against her ear.  “Please tell me you know.”

“Know what?” she asked patiently as she began to undo his buttons.

He let out a breath, smiling bitterly as he nuzzled his face into her hair.  “That I love you _so_ much—” her hands froze and her breathing hitched, and the Doctor turned to press a kiss to her cheek.  “When you were gone, I couldn’t even say your name.”

“Oh, sweetie,” she sighed, her voice thick with tears, and kissed him again, wrapping one leg over his hip and pulling him flush against her.  It wasn’t an answer, but it was enough.

The Doctor was briefly lost to the haze of long-dormant desire roaring through his body.  In all his long lives, only River had ever made him feel this all-consuming, desperate need that welled up out of his hearts and set the rest of him on fire.  It was the work of a few frantic minutes to rid themselves of their clothing and actually pull back the covers.  

Their eyes met then, and, remembering his vow to preserve every moment, the Doctor took a steadying breath and smiled as he leaned down to kiss her, soft and slow.  A sense of reverent calm washed over him again and River hummed in contentment as they settled back into each other between the sheets.

Religion had never been his cup of tea.  But if heaven existed, the Doctor idly thought as he trailed his hands and mouth slowly over her body, it was simply this.  River’s warm, smooth skin pressed against his, her hips rolling and her nails softly scratching down his back, her breathy moans and shuddering sighs.  All the magnificent things he’d seen, all of time and space— they paled in comparison to the sacred gifts of her love and trust, and this, the ritual of their affirmation.

Saying his silent thanks to the universe, he parted her legs with gentle hands and pressed his mouth between her thighs, losing himself in the intimate bliss of taste-smell-touch until her body writhed and trembled and her cries rang in his ears and he felt just the tiniest bit less unworthy.

He couldn’t help but smile, warmth filling his chest at the so-familiar way she grasped desperately at his shoulders, wrenching him closer to her with shaking hands and an adorably serious expression.  Her mouth crashed against his, her legs wrapped around his waist, and her hand reached firmly between them, guiding him inside her.

For a moment, the Doctor forgot how to breathe again.  Surrounded by the perfect warmth of her for the first time in so, so long— his gorgeous, magnificent, wonderful wife— The world was suddenly spinning in the wrong direction.

Oh, no.  _They_ were spinning.  Then she was above him, smiling down at him with so much love and understanding in her eyes.  His cheeks were wet again.  He reached up to touch her.

“Alright?” she asked softly.

He nodded, beyond words.  She cupped his face in her hands and smiled again.  Then she started to move.  Her eyes fluttered shut and her lips parted silently; her hands drifted down to brace against his shoulders.  

“Sweetie,” she moaned.  His hips rose to meet her, drawn helplessly into her gravity as she rocked and pressed her body down over his.

The dim lights of their bedroom glowed in a halo around River’s hair as she swayed above him.  Her face, a picture of pleasure and concentration, had never been more beautiful.  She was ethereal, angelic, but so _very_ real.

 _Maybe I’m dead,_ the Doctor hazily thought.  That would be fine.  Somehow, he’d wound up where he belonged.

His hands slid up River’s arms, tugging her closer, and she smiled, her eyes opening as she shifted over him and pressed her chest against his.  He moved his hands to her hips, guiding her movements as she wrapped her arms behind his head and kissed him.

Little whimpers and moans started, low and deep in her throat, as she breathed heavily through her nose, unwilling to stop snogging him long enough to come up for air.  Every tiny flutter of her muscles nudged him further into incoherence, his nerves alight, the perfect closeness of her hearts beating fast against his chest echoing through him.

River finally tore her mouth from his with a sharp cry, shuddering and gasping, and the Doctor kissed her face as the deep pulse of her body pulled him with her into bliss.  

She collapsed against his chest, panting, and he buried his hands in her hair and kissed her forehead.  

Tears fell over his cheeks again in spite of the languid contentment spreading through him.

“Am I dreaming?” River asked breathlessly.

The Doctor pressed another soft kiss to her head.  “Not unless I am too.  And my dreams are rubbish lately.  So definitely not.”

“Oh, good,” she sighed, kissing his chest.  “What is this, then?”

“Mmm,” the Doctor mumbled, eyes closed and lips moving against her hair, “proof that the universe likes me.”

She snorted.  “Ever the egotist.”

He frowned, eyes still shut.  He’d meant it in a much more she-was-a-perfect-unearthly-goddess sort of way, but again words failed him.  That always seemed to happen with her.

“River,” he said, lowering his arms to wrap around her, holding her firmly in place against his chest.

“Mm?”

“I need to ask you something before I forget.”

“What’s that, my love?”  Her voice was soft and contented.  She rubbed her thumb in idle circles on his shoulder and out of the corner of his eye, her breathing stirred a curl that had fallen over her face.  He was so ferociously in love with her, he thought the feeling might become some sort of spacetime event and just swallow him up whole.

“Um,” he managed after a moment, reminding himself that this was _important,_ “the Furies.”

He felt her tense against him and instantly, deeply regretted disturbing their afterglow.

She finally rolled off to his side and he turned to face her.

“What about them?” she asked, frowning.  “You know all about it.  Madame Kovarian’s sadistic idea of a bedtime story.”

“I don’t know.  There’s something else about it, something you need to tell me.”

“And where did you get this idea?”

“Um.  I told me.  A new one.  Er, surprise.”

River’s eyes widened, but not, it seemed to the Doctor, with surprise.  “You’ve seen him?” she gasped.

“Wait— _him?_  There’s a _him?!”_  He abruptly sat up on one elbow.

Her nose scrunched endearingly as she dragged herself into a seated position.  “What?  What are you— oh my god, do you mean there’s a _her?!”_

 

 


	2. Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pillow talk and new plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I had originally intended there to be some actual plot in this chapter but it sort of got away from me a bit.)

The fog of ecstasy quickly receded from the Doctor’s brain.  In its place, there was a lot of shouting.

“I can’t believe this,” he cried, arms flailing independently of his conscious direction.  “She might’ve _mentioned_ she wasn’t the only one!  And you — you _know_ him?  How can you possibly know him?!”

“Know _you,”_ River corrected him absently.  “Of course I do; I know all of you.  Or I… I thought I did.”  Her voice went low and quiet and she smiled ruefully.  “I suppose there was always going to be a last one for me.”

“River,” he said firmly, grasping both of her hands and staring intently into her face, “that’s what this is about.  I-it has to be.  We’re going to sort this out and fix it.”

“Fix it?” she repeated, blinking shining eyes and shaking her head.  “Sweetie, I’m dead.”

“And look at us now!  You’re not just in _my_ head, you’re in the TARDIS’s psychic field.  I bet anyone could see you.  I bet you could do— anything!  Just like her other gifts, they travel with you!  River,” his hearts fluttered as he raised her hands to his lips with a tremulous smile, “stay with me.”

“I _can’t!”_ she cried, snatching back her hands.  “Don’t you think _you_ might’ve mentioned if I’d been with you for the past thousand years?!  I wasn’t!”

“What do you mean,” the Doctor whispered in slow horror, “a thousand years?”

“This,” she said, tears filling her eyes, “this can’t last.  It’s been— _everything,_ Doctor.  But I can’t stay.”

“What, you’ve somewhere better to be?” he scoffed reflexively, his mind frantically grasping for threads to stop it all suddenly unravelling.

The hurt and anger in her sharp stare made him flinch immediately.  “I’m sorry,” he said, reaching for her.  She crossed her arms over her breasts, her shoulders rigid as pulled her close.  “I’m sorry,” he soothed again.  “Let’s start over, honey.  One thing at a time, eh?  We’re going to sort all this out.”

“There’s nothing to be done,” River said, still stiff and unyielding in his arms.  “You’ve still got Darillium to come, and I swear to god, Doctor, you will _not_ change it, not a single thing, do you hear me?”  She turned to face him, her eyes alight and body trembling.  “No matter what happens to me now, you don’t _touch_ that night!”

“I—” he stammered, stunned.  “I won’t.  I promise, River.”

She let out a shaky breath, lowering her eyes from his.  When he reached for her again she finally relented, melting into his embrace and settling against his chest.  He waited while her breathing calmed a little.

“There now,” the Doctor muttered, stroking her hair back from her face, “we’ve got the naked row out of the way.  Do you know, I think I’m beginning to remember how this goes.”

“Well,” she mumbled begrudgingly into his shoulder, “you certainly remembered how to do the earlier bit.”

“It… may cross my mind from time to time,” he admitted softly.

River sniffled.  “I love you.”

“And I am _not_ letting you go,” the Doctor whispered fervently, resting his cheek against her head and hugging her tight.  “We’re going to sort this out.  You and me, dear.  We can do anything.  It’s called marriage.”

She let out a startled little laugh, sniffing again and wiping her eyes.  “Took you long enough to remember that.”

“I know,” he answered hoarsely.  “So let me make it right, River.  Let me at least try.  She said the Furies.  Said there was something I didn’t know.  What could she mean?”

“I… well, I guess she didn’t mean the bedtime story.  She’s older than you,” River said thoughtfully.  “So she knows… oh.”

“Oh?”

“She knows about my sisters.”

“Your what?!”

“Of the petri dish variety.  Kovarian’s own Furies.  Once I’d spoilt her plans by falling in love with you, she made a few copies to try it again.  Original thinking never was her strongest area.  I didn’t recognise the first one I met until she regenerated.”

“She regenerated?  You mean, into—”

“Mels, yes.  Well, you know what I mean.  Her name was Brooke,” River said, a wistful smile in her voice.  “She saved your life, you know.  You wouldn’t approve of her methods— neither did I, for that matter, even if it _was_ sort of my idea first— so don’t bother asking.  I don’t suppose you would remember her now, since I had to make sure you wouldn’t remember me.”

“A-and when was this?”

“For you?  A very, very long time ago.  For me, after the last time I saw you— this you.  Before Darillium.”

“Oh,” the Doctor said quietly, his head spinning with overwhelming new input.

“There’s three of them left.  Or there were, in any case.  I haven’t exactly checked up on them.  Last I saw, two were busy giving Madame Kovarian hell for all the years she gave it to us.  And one of them…” she sat up, leaning back to look at him.  “Doctor, do you remember a very naive billionaire by the name of O?  She needed an escort for a shopping trip?”

The Doctor traced rapidly back over the timeline of his lives, waiting for a flicker of recognition.  He’d gone so far he was certain River must be wrong, that he’d never met such a person, when suddenly the name lined up with a face and the memory burst to life in his brain.

“No!”

“Yes,” she laughed.

“Her?!  There is _no_ possible way she could be you— or, not _you_ you, but, in-in any way made of you.  She was so…”

“Sweet?  Innocent?  Guileless and trusting?” River asked archly.  “Anathema to me, I know.  It’s funny, you think so much must be part of the… source material, until you see the other ways you could have gone.”

“Don’t do that,” the Doctor said gently.

“Do what?”

“I know,” he said, reaching up to cradle her cheek and bring her face closer, “exactly how very sweet and genuine and trusting you can be, River Song.”  She huffed and made to protest, but he kissed the corner of her mouth, softly, and her eyes drifted shut as she quietly exhaled, swaying into him.  “Maybe innocent will never be the word for you.  Because you know sodding everything, and no one can get the better of you.  You’re far too formidable for innocent.”

“You say that as if you like it,” she said, smiling a pleased little smile that warmed the Doctor’s chest.

“Like _you,”_ he corrected, lips brushing over her cheek.  “Infuriating though you are, you might say I love you.  Someone ought to say it.”

“Yes,” she whispered thickly.  “Someone.”

“It’s just— it’s not enough, is it?  It never is.  I don’t know how else to say it, but every time I do, even now, it’s still just… too small.  Too ordinary.”

“Too human?”

“Well, not exactly.  Human is good.  Human is all… _this.”_  He slipped his arms around her waist again and tugged her closer, nuzzling into the crook of her neck, basking in the heat of her skin and the perfect comfort of her body fitted against his.  River made a happy little sound, stroking her fingertips along his spine.  This silent communion felt like a deeper understanding; a natural extension of the enormous, timeless, indescribable thing that had a firm grip on his hearts.  When he was without her, it choked him.  When they were like this, it was just— beyond words.  Right.  Perfect.  Dazzlingly wonderful.

“I don’t think any language has words big enough to hold all this,” he said, feeling a little shiver go through her as he spoke.  “But humans, you know how to _feel_ it.  You showed me that, River.”

“I’ll tell you a secret, Doctor,” she sighed.  “It doesn’t always feel like this.”

“No?  I suppose I can’t remember very well, before us.  Wasn’t really interested.”

“Know what the difference is?”

“You,” he replied firmly, immediately.  River made another pleased hum, shifting her weight in his arms.

“It’s everything that’s in those silly little words,” she said quietly, her warm breath tickling his ear.  “To humans, they’re bigger on the inside.”

“And to you?”

“And to me.”

Oh.

“Well then.  River Song, my amazing wife,” he began, leaning back to look at her.  “I—”

“Shh,” she interrupted, placing a finger on his lips as she climbed into his lap.  “I know, sweetie.  I understand.  And now you understand.  For the next time.  I’m going to need it, then.”

The Doctor swallowed and nodded, desperately searching her glittering eyes for some other hint of what was yet to come.

“Now, if you’d like to _show_ me again,” she said, a tiny smile curling her lovely, soft lips, “I’ll really make certain to listen _extra_ closely.”

“We should have talked more.  About— little things.  Important things.  These things.  I’m sorry.”

“It’s not only your fault,” River said, combing her fingers through his hair.  “We were both too scared of what was coming.  It was easier not to talk.”

“It might’ve helped,” the Doctor said, frowning.

“Probably.”  She kissed his cheek.  “My, you grew up sooner than I thought, darling,” she whispered.  “Lucky me.”

“That’s new,” he said, his voice cracking a bit as she squirmed delightfully in his lap.  “I’m ‘darling,’ too?”

“You will be,” she promised, and kissed him deeply before he could ask her anything more.

—

When the Doctor woke, his hand mindlessly strayed in search of his wife.  The opposite side of the bed was cold.

“River!” he gasped, flinging himself up before he was fully aware.  It wasn’t all a dream, was it?  Oh, no, definitely not.  He wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing, and the sheets were impossibly entangled with his ankles.  It was only by some sort of miracle that he steadied himself against the bedpost just before he would have toppled chin-first onto the floor.

“River?” he called, angrily kicking the sheet loose and searching frantically for his underpants.  “River, where are you?!”

He stumbled into his pants and down the corridor, bursting into the console room barefoot and panic-stricken.

River was not there.

“Oh my god,” Clara said loudly, quickly covering her eyes with her hands, “where are your trousers?!”

“What?” the Doctor gasped absently, ducking around in search of any sign of River.  “Trousers?  Who cares about trousers?!  Much more important things—” Clara squealed in dismay and scurried up a set of stairs as he came round to her side of the console, “than trousers— have you seen my, my—”

“Wife?” she asked, still with her hands over her face.

“Yes,” he stopped and deflated in relief, “that’s the one.  You’ve seen her?  Where’s she gone?  And actually, what are you doing here?” he demanded, turning to check the psychic interface.

“First of all, rude,” Clara said, setting her fist on her hip and glaring at him in his peripheral vision.  She then abruptly turned her back to him.  “Second, can you _please_ put something on?”

“Nope,” the Doctor said, frowning at a monitor, “if I’m trying to find River, might as well use bait—”

“Oh my god,” she said again, “stop, stop, shut up.  She was here, and now she’s gone, alright?  Dropped the TARDIS by my place, cause she can do that apparently?  She told me to look after you; said she was gone to her sister’s.  Did you have a domestic or something?”

“What?  No!  Very— opposite of that!”

“Ugh.  She’s not… _especially_ dead, is she?” Clara asked reluctantly.  “If you’re going round doing… things in your pants.”

“Don’t be silly,” the Doctor huffed dismissively, “of course I didn’t have my pants on.  How would that—”

“Alright!” she declared, “I’m leaving.  Clearly you’re doing fine on your own, so you can just pop back sometime when you’re dressed and not talking about… _that.”_

“Yes, fine,” he mumbled, searching the interface for some trace of where River’d disappeared to.

“Fine!” Clara repeated hotly, and the Doctor was becoming increasingly aware that he was being a bit of a prat, but there were certain priorities at the moment that just couldn’t be laid aside.

“She’s left you a note,” Clara said as she made her way to the door.

“What?!”

“Next to the blue thingies.”

The Doctor raced around the console, snatching up the little card that sat propped open beside the blue boringers.

“You’re welcome,” she yelled from the doorway.

“What?  Oh— Clara!” he tore his eyes from the precious note to see her silhouette retreating in the doorframe.

“Nope!” she called firmly.  “Give it a few days.  Maybe a week.”

“Okay,” the Doctor agreed, wincing with guilt.  “Thank you, Clara!”

The door shut rather loudly behind her.

He felt like he probably ought to dwell on his poor behaviour a little bit more, but it never had been his strong suit.  He quickly flicked open the card.

 

_Hello Sweetie,_

_I’m sorry to leave you like this, but I think it’s better this way.  We won’t even try to say goodbye this time, because this isn’t it.  Not for you, and maybe not for me, either.  I’ll be checking up on my sisters.  I know, you’re thinking we could do it together, but you’d have told me if we did.  So this is ‘see you later,’ for now.  Maybe I’ll find out something useful.  Maybe you will too, someday.  I won’t give up if you won’t._

_Please remember, Doctor, that I’m always with you.  Whatever you’re going through, I’ll never be far.  And after our last night, maybe, I’ll see you again.  I’d really love to meet her._

_Until then, my love._

_River x_

_P.S._

_Doctor, how long is a night on Darillium?_

 

The Doctor dashed the tears from his face with a trembling hand as he slumped over the console.

“Her?” he mumbled, rubbing at his temple with the heel of his palm.  “What is she on about, ‘meet her?’”  His head hurt when he tried to think about it.  Some dangling thread that he couldn’t seem to trace.

“Oh, well,” he said hoarsely, moving his hand to the keyboard, “what is it, then, Old Girl?  A night on Darillium…”  He keyed in the query and the monitor beeped.

 

_Darillium._

_Level 8 Planet.  Colony of Earth._

_Primary species: Human._

_Solar System Type: Binary._

_Moons: 26._

_Length of Day: 48 years EUT._

 

A little puff of disbelieving laughter burst from the Doctor’s lips.  He looked up into the time rotor and blinked back tears as he smiled.

“Alright, dear,” he whispered.  “Until the next time.”

 

—

 

Sisters.  She’d gone to check up on her sisters.  Why did that not sound wrong?  The Doctor groaned, planting his elbows on the kitchen table and glaring down into his teacup while he pulled at his hair.

Something… something was there.  Something in the grimace reflected in the milky surface of his Earl Grey.

 _A bright, sympathetic laugh._   _“Too right.  Now eat your cake.”_

He shook his head.  No matter how he tried, he couldn’t see it clearly.

Sisters.  Back to that.  That was important.  That was new, and it didn’t feel wrong.  He tried to remember his conversations with his wife; more than the deep, intoxicating bliss of having her wrapped in his arms, _I love you_ a soft sigh between them as he pressed breathless kisses to her face, her cries sending shivers down his spine as they moved together, her body cradling his, so warm and good and perfectly right— _Those silly little words.  They’re bigger on the inside._

No, no.  Enough.  No getting distracted.  There would be plenty of time to think about that over and over again in every quiet moment for the rest of his lives.   _Lives?_  Well, that was an old habit.   _Life._  Funny.  Where had that thought come from?

Anyway— Sisters.  Her sisters.  

Not from the Ponds.  No, not a Pond.  Never a Pond.  

A petri dish.  

“Clones!” the Doctor cried, his fist connecting with the table and jostling his teacup.

As the china rattled, something else bobbed suddenly to the surface of his memory: _“Then what the hell are you doing here?”_

He shook his head again, rubbing at his eyes with his fists.  His mind hadn’t felt like this much of a mess since he was the bright-eyed dandy with the amnesia habit.  If he slept again, all the odd little traces would disappear for good: a blackboard wiped clear.  Much as the relief of unconsciousness beckoned— he mustn’t have been out long before he woke up looking for River— he couldn’t afford to lose any more.

Clones, then.   _River clones!_  Kovarian made them, but where were they now?  Out in the universe, making their way?  The thought was wrenching.  He didn’t know what to make of it.  His own River could certainly do with a clone to download herself onto.  They weren’t empty, though.  They were their own people.  Different from her, if not genetically; unique, like every life in the universe.  More daughters that the Ponds would never know.

Oh, how could he resist trying to meet them?

And if River happened to be visiting one when he did… well, he couldn’t really be blamed, could he?

Alright, maybe he could, but easier to ask forgiveness.

 

 


	3. Visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time the Doctor came to call, he hadn’t been gone very long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably not the best chapter for Valentine's day, but...
> 
> You may have mixed feelings about this chapter. This is expected; please do not be concerned. :)

 

The first time the Doctor came to call, he hadn’t been gone very long.

She glanced up from the control panel at the familiar sound of the TARDIS brakes wheezing and groaning, echoing through the facility.  The ship materialised and the Doctor emerged, ruffling his sandy hair as he frowned.  

“Interesting,” he muttered.  “Don’t seem to remember being here…”  He smiled politely when his bewildered gaze landed on her.  “Oh, hello there.  I’m the Doctor.  I, er, don’t suppose you might tell me where we are?  You see, this was one of the last stops made by my ship, but I’m afraid I don’t recognise it at all.”

“Really?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.  “That sounds like a personal problem.”

“Um,” he said, frowning again, “sorry, have we met?”

She watched him impassively for a moment.  “Why would you say that?”

“Well, the TARDIS doesn’t often travel without me.  I thought perhaps I had been here, and somehow, er… Well, no, I guess not.  Maybe I’ll just have a look—”

“I think you’d probably better not.”

Unfortunately, it was then that Madame Kovarian’s shrieks rang through the hall.  Shit.  That bloody H2—

“What was that?”  The Doctor leapt immediately into action, hurrying toward the corridor.  “What’s going on in there?  Is someone in trouble?”

She sprang up from the controls and dashed after him, cutting him off before he could enter.  “No, no, standard procedure, nothing to concern yourself with.”

“I think I’ll be the judge of that if you don’t mind, Miss…”

He tried futilely to duck past her, but she was much quicker.

“That’s not important.  And you need to leave.”

“Not until I— see who’s—” he sprang for the far side of the corridor but her hand slammed into the wall just before his shoulder did, blocking him.  He huffed in frustration.  “Look, you really are going to have to let me pass!”

“Or what?”  Her lip curled up, just baring a flash of teeth.  “What you going to do to me?”

“Well, I’ll, I— I’m going to get to the bottom of this!  Someone needs my _help_ —”

He lunged for the other side of the corridor, and with a heavy sigh, she caught him round the neck and knocked him none too gently to the floor.  He landed with a thud and an “oof” as the air left his lungs.

“Alright, Doctor?” she asked dully, standing over him.  “Whatever happened to that Venusian aikido?”

“What?” he wheezed.  “Well, we were talking like ci—civilised people.  It— it would hardly be polite to,” he panted, still flat on his back, “to make an aggressive move against a, a, young lady— but give me just a moment and,” he paused to cough and splutter a bit.  “Hang on,” he said hoarsely, leaning up on an elbow, “how do you know about that?  Who are you?”

“You know, I was given a name, but all things considered, I don’t think I’ll keep it.  Bad memories.”

“Well,” he said, frowning up at her in confusion, “I can certainly understand that.  But whoever you are—”

“Why don’t you call me Mel?” she said, crouching beside him.  “That was her name: Melody.  The original.  But she’s not using it, anymore.”

He scurried back from her, but didn’t get very far.

“She’s the one who got out of all this; who got to be what we were meant to be.  She’s the one who got to have you.  We’re just extra bits.  Cast-offs.  Copies.  There’s not a place for us in the universe, cause she’s already filled it in.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the Doctor said, regarding her seriously, “but I think you’ll find it’s a very big universe.  There’s more than enough room for everyone.”

“And what about in here?” she asked, reaching out to trace the V of his— frankly, atrocious— jumper as he sputtered in alarm.  “Room for one more?”

“I, I’m sorry?” he stammered.  “What are you—”

She leaned forward, wrapped her hand firmly around the back of his neck and kissed him.  The Doctor made a muffled shout of surprise and flailed his arms briefly, before slumping back lifelessly onto the hard, polished tile.

Mel sighed.  At least that new trick had come in handy.  Dragging unconscious Doctors about, however, was becoming old hat.

 

——

 

The second time he came round, it had been ages; enough time that they’d both had a change.  Of all the places in the universe to run into the Doctor, she hadn’t expected to find him at church.

Her hearts leapt when his curly hair caught her eye in the midst of the service.  Why, they were practically a matched set.  That had to be a sign, didn’t it?  That was the sort of thing a priestess of the Mainframe ought to believe in.  She was still getting into the part, really.  She could do with some practise.

She slipped up behind him after the mass, while everyone was still milling about on their way to the exit.  “Well, hello, gorgeous,” she cooed.  “I’ve got to ask, _what_ has compelled you to wear the universe’s most hideous hologram when you’ve got _that_ for church clothes underneath?”

He spun to face her, red-cheeked and mouth open either to voice his outrage or preen over her praise— it was really a toss up, with this one— when he stopped dead.

“You,” he breathed.  “I… know, you don’t I?”

Oh, no.  This bloody face.  _Her_ face.  He wasn't supposed to know her, though.  He was much too young.

“I work here, babe.  See the robes?  Or maybe you’re clever like me and you can see something better.”

The Doctor swallowed visibly and glanced down.  His mouth mutely opened and shut like a fish as he tried to respond.  Second one, then.

“No, I, I’m sure I know you,” he insisted, recovering himself.  “I just can’t quite…”  He shook his head in frustration.  “What’s your name?”

“We don’t really do names till we’re higher in the ranks.  You can just call me Priestess.”

“But surely you had a name, once?” he asked softly, reaching a hesitant hand toward her face.  Her breath caught in her throat.

“I’ve had a few,” Mel said, hating the way her voice went scratchy as he gently tugged on a stray curl by her cheek.  “We could… go to a private chapel, if you like.  I can take confessions.  Though unlike with those ugly blokes, you’ll still remember it afterwards.”

“What ugly blokes?”

“Right, never mind.  So what do you say?”

“Alright,” he answered immediately, flashing her a genuine smile, and she stifled a shiver.  God, this one would’ve been _so_ easy to kill.  Real missed opportunity there.  He had it bad for her and he couldn’t even remember her.  

Well, not _her_ her.  River.  The real one.

“This way,” she said, pasting on a wicked smile and swallowing down the bitter taste in her mouth as she took his hand.

It was dim in the chapel, the air heavy with digital incense.  She released the Doctor’s hand as she walked to the altar, her heels clicking on the marble floor and echoing through the empty chamber.  She wondered if the altar would scare him off.

Nope.  He seemed not to even take notice that he was sitting down on a bed as he followed after her, his eyes fixed on her face.  It was intoxicating, having his rapt attention like this.  No wonder _she_ had… well.  That was _her_ mistake.  Not one that ought to be repeated.

“Tell me about yourself,” he said, hands flexing in his lap like he wanted to touch her.

“This generally goes the other way round,” she replied, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Right, of course, but I just— I _know_ you.  Don’t I, Ri…” he trailed off, his face screwing up as he fought against the blanks in his brain.

Something in her chest squeezed and burned.

“It’s Mel,” she said.  “Until I get my new name.”

“Really?”  He frowned.  “That doesn’t… sound quite right.”

“No,” she whispered.  “Not quite.”

“Well, no matter,” he said, smiling brightly and taking her hand.  “Tell me about yourself, Mel.”

“Oh, there’s not much to tell.  Born in a lab, raised in a cult.  I thought I might make my own way in the universe after that, but… well, here I am.”  It was baffling, how easily the truth just tripped off of her tongue.

“You’d say this is a cult, then?  Well, I suppose by the technical definition, any religious group—”

“No, not this Church.  A smaller chapter.  They broke off from the main group.”

“Yes,” he said, frowning again.  “I’d heard rumours… Worth investigation, I thought, but I didn’t see any records of separate factions this early in the Church’s history.”

“Right.  That won’t happen for a while, yet.”

He looked thoughtful for a moment, then his face lit up.  “You’re a time traveller!”

“Clever boy,” she purred, offering him a sinful smile.  “I used to dabble.  But I think I’ve settled in now, back here.  Gonna take the long way round.”

“Whatever for?  There’s so much to see!  You’ll miss it, staying here!”

“Made my vows to the Church.  It would be terribly rude of me to break them.”

“They can wait, don’t you think?” his thumb traced little circles over her knuckles.  “Oh, it’s a wonderful universe, Mel!  I’d love to show it to you.  The Church will still be here whenever you get bored of me.  And maybe, meanwhile, I can figure out how I know you.”

She laughed, but her chest ached.  “You’re sweet.   _You’re_ not supposed to be sweet.”

The Doctor raised an eyebrow.  “Ah, that cult of yours.  Might that have been the one that’s a tiny bit obsessed with me?”

“Might’ve been.”

“Good thing you got out of there, then.  Rubbish use of your time, my dear.”

Mel snorted.  He wasn’t supposed to be _charming,_ either.  Vain, unpredictable, a bit of a twat.  Had they gotten all that data wrong?  Or was he just _this_ stupidly in love with… her.

“Doctor,” she said, staring down at their entwined hands, “you’re not even supposed to know about that cult yet.  What have you been getting up to?”

“Oh, a bit of this, a bit of that.  I _could_ show you.”

“That would’ve been nice,” she sighed.

“Would have been?”

“In another life.”

He frowned, but when she leaned into him, he met her halfway.

Her hearts raced, beating frantically against her ribs.  This wasn’t like the last time.  Oh, no, not at all.  He was shy but willing, his mouth soft and warm on hers as his hands crept into her hair.  When the lipstick finally took effect and he swayed away from her, she caught his shoulders and gently laid him down on the bed.

She took a shaky, gasping breath and wiped her eyes.   _Stupid, stupid._  He wasn’t hers.  Never had been.

“He likes you,” came a warm, sympathetic voice from the shadowed corner of the chamber.  Her own voice.

Mel took in another shuddering gasp of air, angrily brushing the tears from her cheeks and feeling a complete _fool_ as the real River stepped into the light.

“He _loves_ _you,”_ she answered thickly.  “Can’t even bloody remember you and he loves you anyway.  Which, by the way, makes him an absolute idiot.  I could’ve killed him a hundred times if I wanted.”

River smiled wistfully as she approached the altar, brushing her hand through the sleeping Doctor’s hair and over his cheek.  “It was very hard for me to leave him,” she whispered.  “If only things could have been different.”

“Well, you got him in the end,” Mel spat bitterly.

River smiled at her again, kind and understanding.  It was infuriating.  “Yes, I suppose I did,” she said softly.  “In the end.”

“What’re you doing here?” Mel asked, sniffing and blinking stubbornly up at the ceiling.

“I could ask you the same.  Imagine my surprise when I went looking for my sister Brooke only to find she’d become a sister of the Church.  You know, I wonder if there’s a genetic predisposition?”

“I’m not a sister,” she snapped, “I’m a priestess.”

“Mmm, true.  It’s much more fun scandalising people in a nun’s habit.  You should give it a go sometime.”

“And I don’t go by Brooke anymore.  That was _her_ name for me.  I’m rid of it now.  Rid of her, too.”

“I’m glad,” River said, moving to stand before her.  It was like looking in a mirror.  She’d been used to that once, of course, but that was long ago, with a different face.

“How did it happen?” River asked gently.

“Oh, it was stupid H2’s fault.  She underestimated _mummy dearest._  She tried to escape; H2 lost it.  Blew the whole facility.”

“Good riddance,” River said, something firm and fierce in her eyes.

“Yeah, well, H2 didn’t make it.  I was trying to get away.  I didn’t _care_ about _her_ anymore; about getting revenge, wasting more of my lives on her.  I wanted…” she shook her head.  “Doesn’t matter.  I decided to get out.  I was far enough away that I survived it.”

“Oh, poor H2,” River sighed, and looked like she was genuinely sad to hear it.  “But I’m happy for you, Mel.  I’m happy that you decided to live for yourself.”

Mel flushed and looked down at her lap.  “Yeah, well, you’ve caught me.  Using your face, your name; snogging your husband.  So much for living for myself.”

“This one’s always showing up where he doesn’t belong.  I’d much rather you give him a kiss than a concussion.  And in any case, I’m hardly in a position to complain.  I’m dead.”

“You what?” Mel blurted, snapping her head up again.

“I’m dead, I’m afraid.  A long time now.”

“So, so, what is this?  You’re supposed to be what, a ghost or something?”

“Oh, hardly that.  I’m just a lot of lines of code.  And… a little something more, I suppose.”

“How are you here?”

“You know, I’m not really sure.  Sheer force of will?  A power of the TARDIS, maybe.  She gave us lots of her gifts.”

“She gave them to _you._  We’re just… copies.”

“Now where did you get a rubbish idea like that?”

“It’s true!” Mel cried, blinking back tears again.  “I thought I was alright with it.  With happiness not being for me.  But after what I’ve seen, what I could’ve had…”

“You can have anything, Mel.  You can make your own choices.  The universe is yours.  You just have to reach out and take it.”

She shook her head, smiling through her misery at the absurdity of it all.  “You don’t get it.  Because _you’re_ the real one.  What made it all okay?  What made it all worth it, in the end?  All the hate?  All the lies and the pain and everything she did to you?  What made you decide you could live with it and change; that you could be better?”

Even as she hesitated to reply, River’s eyes flicked over to the sleeping Doctor on the altar.

“Right,” Mel said, laughing bitterly under her breath.  “You know, even when I was biding my time, waiting to kill him, even when I _hated_ him with every fibre of my being, I was so jealous of you.  It was the two of us, travelling the universe, and then you came in and wrecked everything!  Just instantly, without a thought, you fit right in.  You two were _made_ for each other.  And I… I was made just like you, but I’m a spare.  There’s nowhere I fit.”

“That’s not true,” River said firmly.  “Just take Olive— that’s O, now.  I just saw her.  She’s doing beautifully.  I was so pleased—”

“Yeah, of course _she_ is!  She was never like us.”

“She _is_ like us.  We’re all the same.”

“No.  Not like you and I.  We’re…” Mel sighed.  “We were _all_ trained to destroy the Doctor.  Trained to hate him from our first breath.  But you and I, we with travelled with him; we knew him.  I killed him, River, and then I _saved_ him.  I changed _everything_ because of him.  Everything I’ve ever been, turned on its head in a moment of mad faith, cause of him.”

River took a shaky breath, watching her with wide, wet eyes.  

“River, don’t you see what that makes me?”

“Yes,” she finally answered, offering her a tremulous smile.  “Yes, I do.  Nature versus nurture.  We could have been different.  But if the same person is put through the same formative events, you get, well… me.”

Mel shook her head and smiled ruefully.  “Almost you.  But not quite.  You’ve already lived that life.  So what’s left for me?”

River knelt in front of her and grasped her hand.  She _felt_ solid enough.  “You chose to come here, Mel.  To be a priestess of the Mainframe.  That was _your_ decision.  Why?”

“Why did _you_ choose to be an archaeologist?”

“Oh, it wasn’t all for him,” River scoffed.  “Don’t believe _everything_ I say.  I did it for me.  I did it because I wanted something of my own.  I wanted to see the universe, and to understand it.”

“I guess…” Mel sighed, staring off into space.  “I wanted to understand where I came from.  How all of this began, before Kovarian came up with her own twisted interpretation.  But honestly, I don’t see the connection at all.”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t yet.  Not until the faith change.”

“Well, that’s something to look forward to then.”

River squeezed her hand and smiled reassuringly.  “Do you like it here?”

“Oh, it’s fine.  The Mother Superious is absolutely barmy but she leaves us alone, mostly.  She’s nothing compared to… well, you know.”

“Who is the Mother Superious these days?”

“Mother Mariana Ecila.”

River scrunched her nose.  “Funny name.”

“Everyone chooses a new name when they reach the rank of high priestess, and reverses their given name as a symbol that they’ve turned over a new leaf or some rubbish.  It’s lucky for her she was called Alice; you wouldn’t believe all the Naitsirhcs we have running about here.  Total nonsense.”

“Oh,” River breathed, her grip on Mel’s hand going slack.

“Oh?”

“No, nothing,” she said brightly, standing up.  “You know, I think you’ve come to the right place, Mel.  I think you’re going to find that spot in the universe for you, right here.”

“Yeah?” she asked, wearily.  It was oddly comforting to hear it from… well, herself.  “What makes you think so?”

“Oh, just a feeling,” River said, flashing her a conspiratorial smile.  “Have you given any thought to what name you might take?”

“Um, yeah,” Mel muttered, flushing.  “I was sort of thinking of Natasha.  You know, everyone takes these really boring religious names.”

“I like that very much,” River said softly.  “A diminutive of Natalya, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Mel said.  “It means Christmas.”

 


	4. Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He needed to get out of the quiet. He needed to drown it out. This was why she’d left him with Clara. She knew he couldn’t manage to be alone right now. Well, he’d made a spectacular mess of that. But… he did in fact know one other person to whom he might pay a visit. Someone else who might actually have an idea of where he could find them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY IT HAS BEEN SO LONG!!! Real life got in the way and prevented me from writing for a couple of weeks, and as I normally write through some form of demonic possession, it was very difficult for me to get back into it. I hope this chapter isn't totally dull; I sort of feel like it wound up being too much exposition, but this story is pretty much all made up of conversations anyway. So, um, if you're here, thank you for sticking with me, and I'm sorry again for the ridiculous wait!

 

So, there was a woman called River Song, and she knew his name.  She was his future.  She was gone, and she was saved.  She was finished, and only just beginning.

Fine.  That was fine.  That didn’t completely shake the very foundations of his existence at all.  The implications weren’t entirely too terrifying and enormous to contemplate.  No, he wasn’t filled with equal measures of dread and desperation to see her again.  That would be ridiculous.  He hadn’t the faintest idea of who she was.

 _Oh, really?_ taunted a voice in his mind.   _Not even the_ slightest _notion?  Nothing at all to do with her knowing—_

No, nope, nothing to go on there.  He’d just have to wait and see.  Or, perhaps, not see.  Maybe there was nothing at all to fear, or to obsessively wonder about, or to secretly hope for, not that he _did_ , but— it could be nothing.  After all, time could be rewritten.

_Not those times.  Not one line.  Don’t you dare._

The Doctor bent over the console, dragging his hand through his hair as her words rang in his head.  Well, maybe he could just look into it, a little.  A quick glance through the TARDIS database.  Just a little hint couldn’t hurt, right?

“How about it, Old Girl?” he muttered, keying in a search and glancing over his shoulder before turning back to the monitor.  “What do you know?”

River Song.  How many of those could there be in the universe, after all?

The TARDIS returned a single result.

“The Church of the Papal Mainframe?” he reached into his pocket for his reading glasses and rubbed at his chin.  “What’s an archaeologist/professor have to do with a church?”  See, it— it couldn’t be that.  Archaeology _and_ church?  She clearly wasn’t his type.  Never mind the, well, hair, and the swagger and wit, the cleverness, the fierce sincerity and tenderness in her voice and that look in her eyes when she—

“What’s that?”

The Doctor just managed to wrangle a yelp of surprise into “HEY-yyy, Donna!  And how are we feeling?  Better after a little kip?”

She stared at him, sleep-rumpled and with a face on that said she was in no mood to entertain nonsense.  “Yeah, bloody fantastic,” she deadpanned.  “What are _you_ looking at a church for?”

“Oh, no reason.  Academic curiosity.”

She raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Anyway, it’s not just any boring old Earth church.  It’s a big computer church.  In space!”

“Yeah, surprisingly, ‘big computer in space’ versions of things don’t _really_ appeal at the moment.”

“Well, yeah, fine, I’ll give you that,” he muttered, tucking his glasses back into his pocket.  “Got any better ideas, then?”  He shut off the screen.

“You know,” Donna said, shifting her weight to one hip, “today, I could possibly be persuaded by a big, in-space cocktail bar.  Like a really posh one, with all rainbow drinks and little space umbrellas.”

“I don’t know about space umbrellas,” the Doctor mused, sitting back against the console, “but I do know a place that does a _pretty_ good banana daiquiri.”

“Only pretty good?”

“Well.  I don’t like to brag—”

“Right; you love it—”

“—but I did give them the recipe.”

“Fine, then, Spaceman,” she declared, a hint of a smile threatening on her face for the first time since they’d left the Library.  “Impress me.  Shall I change?”

“If you like.”

As Donna sauntered down the corridor to the wardrobe, the tentative smile slowly fell from the Doctor’s own face.  He turned back to the console and switched on the screen.

“Papal Mainframe,” he mumbled again, studying the sparse entry.  Whatever else the TARDIS might know about River Song, she wasn’t in the mood to share.  It’d have to do.

He’d give it four daiquiris, tops, before he was dragging Donna back to her room, anyway.  _If_ they were still making them right.  Then he’d just pop over and have a quick look at this… church.

 

——

 

_Sisters._

Sisters, sisters.  River’s sisters. The Doctor kept repeating it, running it over and over in his mind, muttering it under his breath, until the word sounded strange and meaningless and stuck to his tongue.  It just didn’t want to stay rooted in his brain, but he had her note: the word drawn out in her elegant swirling hand, a trace of her perfume clinging to the paper when he pressed it to his lips.  Unless that was only his imagination.

_So, dear, where would a sister of yours be?_

Demon’s Run was abandoned.  He next traced Kovarian to a spaceship base in ruins, circling round a lifeless solar system in an asteroid belt, surrounded by bits of its own debris.  Sure, he could try to find it before it was destroyed, but if this was where River had met them, perhaps best not meddle earlier in time.  Who had survived this ship, then?  Where had they gone?

_Come on, honey.  Just one more hint?  I won’t tell._

It was silent in the console room, apart from the constant hum of the time rotor.  No more ghost haunting the corridors.  No more of her lovely voice, criticising his clothes and his driving and making lewd remarks about his bum while he pretended not to hear.  No more feeling the gentle pressure of her weight settling onto the bed while he held his breath and screwed his eyes shut tight.

There was, however, ample time and quiet for the regret to strangle him.  The Doctor tried to physically shake the thoughts from his head, his hair flopping loose into his face.  He rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw shifting arabesques in the black.  The screaming in his brain went on.  That was the trouble with a mind that didn’t know how to bloody _shut up._

 _And a mouth,_ River would have said.  _But I know how to fix that._

He needed to get out of the quiet.  He needed to drown it out.  That was why she’d left him with Clara.  She knew he couldn’t manage to be alone right now.  Well, he’d made a spectacular mess of that.  But… he _did_ in fact know one other person to whom he might pay a visit.  Someone else who might actually have an idea of where he could find them.

 

——

 

“Hello,” the Doctor called, grinning at the two young women in holographic robes who were stood at the entrance to the hall.  “Is this the church?  I was just in the neighbourhood when I thought, you know, can’t remember the last time I’d been—”

“Two hundred and seventy-three years,” said one of them, in deep blue robes.  “Welcome back, Doctor.”

“Sorry, what?”

“But I’m afraid we can’t permit you entrance to the cathedral without honours,” said the other one, in white.

“No, no, wait— you’re saying I’ve been here before?”

“So you should be acquainted with the dress code for returning supplicants,” the one in white went on, looking him over sternly.

“Uh… right.”  He glanced down, tugging self-consciously at the hem of his pinstriped suit jacket.  “It’s… it’s the shoes, is it?  Everyone’s got something to say about the shoes…”

“Nudity is prescribed for attending the mass,” the one in blue explained.

“Oh,  _right._  Well, you lot should really advertise that!  Bet it’d get your attendance up a bit more than the whole hellfire and brimstone… uh, I’m getting off track.  I’m not actually here for the service.  I’m looking for someone.  An archaeologist by the name of River Song.  Ring any bells?”

The one in white looked at him blankly, but the one in blue turned pale as a sheet.  Her mouth gaped open and she glanced nervously to the side of the room— where there was an exceedingly strange looking fellow with a gigantic, shrivelly head lurking against the wall.

“Hang on,” the Doctor said, squinting, _“he’s_ allowed to wear a suit?”

“Who is?” asked a new voice, and the Doctor’s eyes snapped over to the woman striding into the room.  She had a stripe painted across her eyes, a dark blue gown, and an imposingly high dark hairdo.

“Uh…” he mumbled, losing his train of thought entirely, “…I dunno.”

“That will be enough, Priestesses,” said the woman.

“Yes, Mother Lem,” they answered in concert, bowing quickly before they scurried away.  The one in blue glanced nervously over her shoulder at the Doctor as she went.

“Hey there, pretty,” the new woman said, her eyes raking blatantly over him.

 _Again with the ‘pretty’ today?_  “Hello,” he replied, pasting on his most charming smile.  “I’m the Doctor.  And you are?”

“Tasha Lem, Mother Superious of the Church of the Papal Mainframe.”

“Lovely to meet you, Mother Superious.”

“Please,” she drawled, her lips curling into a predatory grin, “call me Tasha.”

“Well then, Tasha, perhaps you can help me.  I’m looking for someone.”

“Your personal saviour?”

“I— what?” the Doctor sputtered.  “Why, why would you say that?”

“Well, you have come to a church.”

“Oh.  Right, church, of course!  Er, but… no.  I’m, I’m looking for an archaeologist, in fact.  An archaeologist called River Song.”

Tasha studied him calmly, not reacting at all to his words.  He started to squirm a bit under her gaze.

“Fancy a drink?” she finally asked.

“A— what, _in church?”_

“Is that so unusual?”

“Well… I guess not, when you put it like that.  But the manner of offering it _is_ a bit unconventional.”

“Well, that’s me all over,” she replied, grinning.

“And, actually, I’ve just had a few,” the Doctor added, though the banana daiquiris didn’t nearly affect him like they did Donna, who was hopefully finally having some restful sleep back on the TARDIS.

“Perfect,” said Tasha.  “What’s one more?”  She was already turning and crossing the hall, her heels echoing through the chamber.  After a moment’s hesitation, he followed.

—

“So,” the Doctor ventured, peering suspiciously into the goblet of blue liquid in his hand, “Mother Superious.  Running a great big computer church in space.  What’s that all about?”

“It’s certainly not what _you_ think it is,” Tasha said, spreading herself artfully across the settee opposite his.  “Oh, it used to be, back in the old days.  The founders were Earth descendents with a lot of rubbish, antiquated ideas.  Those went by the wayside when I came into power.  Though I kept the dress code.  Hate to throw out the baby with the bathwater.”

The Doctor raised an eyebrow.  “I’ll have to remember that for the next time.”

“Oh, _please_ do.”

“So if your Church isn’t all Earth-churchy, then it’s…”

“Dedicated to the preservation of the Universe, of course.  At least, that’s the basic platform for the uninitiated.”

He took a sip of his drink.  Well, he’d had worse.  “And for the initiated?”

“Oh, Doctor.  Do I look like the sort of girl to give out the holy mysteries after one drink?”

He swallowed another sip, carefully considering the sinful smile on her face.  “No?”

“Good guess.”

“So the mainframe bit, though.  What’s that for?”

She ‘tsk’ed, sitting up in one fluid motion and reaching for her own goblet.  “Now that _definitely_ isn’t first date conversation.”

If she was trying to distract him, he’d had enough of that already.  The twice-ignored question he’d come here to answer was burning in his brain.

“Ask me what you really want to know,” Tasha said, before he could speak.

The Doctor blinked.  She was certainly perceptive.  Something… something was almost familiar about her, actually, when he looked straight into her eyes.  Something he couldn’t place.  He tucked that away for later consideration.  “River Song,” he said.  “Do you know her?”

For a moment, he had the unnerving feeling that Tasha Lem was staring into his soul, reading his past and his future and all of his most fiercely guarded secrets.

“Yes."

His hearts leapt, pounding erratically in his chest.  “Who is she?”

“That’s a very long story.”

“It usually is.”

Tasha laughed: a rich, melodic sound, which nonetheless was clearly mocking him.  “Oh, babe, you’ve no idea.”

“Tell me, then.”

“So demanding, Doctor!  Careful, you could give a girl the wrong impression.”

“Look, Tash," he said, clinging to the last shreds of his patience, "I do love a good flirt, but this is possibly very crucially important information for me.  I _need_ to know.”

She actually _pouted._  “Pity," she sighed.  "I thought you’d be more fun.”  

She put an odd emphasis on the “you.”  The sort of inflection that he used hear a lot more often when he’d kept the company of people who’d known several of him.  He added that to his list of mental notes.

“I’ve had a trying day,” the Doctor muttered, clenching his jaw.

“Well,” she said briskly, rising from her seat and setting her goblet on the side table, “then I think we’ve both had enough.  Come and visit me again when you’re in a better mood.”

The Doctor quickly rose to his feet.  “Now, wait just a minute—”

“You don’t know me, Doctor, and I don’t owe you anything.”  Her eyes flashed with a quiet fury, but her voice was calm.  “If you’d like to learn more about my Church, you can attend services and study the doctrines and earn access to the mysteries through initiation.  Or, perhaps, we can become friends.  Neither one just happens in a minute on your command.”

“But— forget the Church,” he blurted desperately.  “River Song.  Please, just tell me something about her.  Anything.  Your priestess, she knew.  The one in the blue.  When I said her name, I could tell she knew!”

“She is a high priestess.  Initiated.”

He blinked, taken aback.  “You’re telling me River Song is one of your, your _holy mysteries?”_

“Well, she’s certainly a mystery to you.  Considering everything you’ve seen, I think that’s a secret worth keeping.”

He gaped at her, lost for words.  Frustration and confusion and anger warred in his throbbing head.

“Sleep it off, Doctor,” Tasha commanded dismissively, turning away from him, her skirts sweeping across the floor with a flourish.  “Come and see me another day.”

Before he could object, two of those shrivelly fellows in the suits appeared, and, hang on, he’d forgotten about them before, hadn’t he?  How had he forgotten them?  And then one of them was speaking, which was odd, because it didn’t seem to have much in the way of a mouth, but then…  

Actually, he was quite tired.  Exhausted, really.  It'd been ages since he slept; since before the Library, since before his world was turned upside down in ways he couldn’t begin to comprehend.  The hope and grief and terror he’d been trying to bottle up were wearing him down relentlessly.  It wasn’t a bad idea, sleeping it off.  In fact, it seemed the only action he could possibly take, the compulsion to follow Tasha’s off-handedly delivered order gripping his mind like a vice.  In a daze, he walked out of the chamber, through the massive hall, and into the TARDIS.  He piloted her into the Vortex before trudging down the corridor to his room and collapsing into bed.

—

When he woke, Donna was standing over him, fuzzy-haired and gripping a coffee mug.  “Have a few too many, then?” she asked, a note of amusement in her voice.

“What?” the Doctor groaned, half his face still smushed into his pillow.  “No, don’t be ridiculous.”  With only half his mouth free, it was a bit more like “ridifulumph.”  Slowly, he managed to turn over onto his side.  “I can’t have _too many,_ I haven’t got your pitiful human metabolism.”

“Oh, you’re a charming one hung-over.”

“I'm not—”

“How about some brunch?” she interrupted.

“…Yeah, alright,” he reluctantly agreed, forcing himself into a seated position.  “Hang on,” he said, rubbing his eyes, “I was at church.”

“Yeah, you don’t need to lie to me, I’m not your mum.  Also, I was there.”

“No, no, after that, when you were sleeping— I met that woman!”

“Oh, _now_ it’s all starting to come together.”

“No, shut up.  And come on!”  He leapt out of bed.  “We need to go back!”

“You’re joking!” Donna whinged.  “I said brunch, and you say church?  You know, you’re not supposed to be _my_ mother either.  Can’t we at least eat before we confess our sins?”

 

——

 

As the TARDIS brakes groaned to a halt, the Doctor sprang out of the doors, grinning and tugging at his holographic lapels.  It’d been _ages_ since he visited his old friend Tash.  Since before he’d regenerated, in fact.  She’d definitely be pleased to see him.  And she just might know something about…

“Oh.”  

His thoughts were derailed entirely.  This wasn’t the Mainframe.  It was a… palace, or something?  A soft breeze wafted through the white marble hall, which stood open to the balmy air, framed with ornate columns.  Outside, the sun was setting over the wall of the courtyard, painting the sky in rich streaks of orange and violet.  The leaves of an olive tree rustled lightly in the wind.

As he stood there agape on the stairs, the slap of bare feet on marble echoed through the hall.  Very tiny feet.

“Who’s there?” called a little voice to match the little feet.  A very energetic toddler came racing round a corner.  She had a head of brilliant, bouncy blonde curls.  “Who are you?” she asked, stopping to look at him curiously.

“Hello,” the Doctor said, grinning at her.  "Well, I’m the—”  He trailed off at the sound of a larger set of feet approaching, and a woman burst into the hall, hot on the little girl’s heels.  

“What have I told you about running off?” she scolded breathlessly, then immediately froze.  The smile fell from the Doctor's face as he stared at her, but she only had eyes for the TARDIS.

“Oh my god,” she said, softly, as she absently grasped the little girl’s shoulders.  She let out an awed laugh, then finally dragged her eyes away from the ship to rest on the intruder in her courtyard.  “Is the Doctor here?” she asked, with a genuine, happy smile quite unlike he'd ever seen on her familiar face.

She looked exactly like Mels.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should have put a warning on this story that despite it eventually resulting in a fix-it of sorts, there will be lots of weird mixed feelings and pain?!?! I had an idea it would be that way to begin with, but it keeps on getting more and more emotionally complicated all on its own...


	5. Mysteries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you really telling me you’re not wearing anything?” Donna hissed, giving him a wide berth as they followed a priestess down the central aisle of the cathedral.
> 
> “It’s polite!” the Doctor whispered, glancing to the far walls of the massive chamber. They were lined with armoured soldiers standing guard. That was… new. “I kept trying to tell you,” he went on, tucking that concerning observation into the back of his mind, “if you’d just swallow the hologram projector, no one’ll be any the wiser!”
> 
> “If they’d be none the wiser, then why should I take off my clothes?!”
> 
> “We’re travelling through time and space! It’s important to observe local customs!”
> 
> “I’d rather be sure no one’s observing my ‘customs,’ thank you!”

 

“Yeah,” the Doctor croaked.  “He is.”

Mels’s sharp eyes studied him, but it wasn’t her, it was— it _had_ to be…  

“You must be O,” he said, and her face lit up again.

“Doctor?” she asked, grinning.  He nodded, and she laughed in delight, bounding down the steps toward him.

“Oh, wait!”  He threw up his arms defensively.  “Uh, let me just nip into the TARDIS and change.  Won’t be a minute.”

“Why?”  Her brows furrowed suspiciously as she looked him over.  “What’s wrong with what you’ve got on?”

“Well… I, er, sort of dressed for church.”

She stared at him blankly for a moment, then her eyes widened and she burst into laughter.  “God,” she gasped, “it’s a good thing I didn’t take Brooke up on that hologram training.”  She shook her head.  “Is she expecting you?”

The Doctor frowned.  “Brooke?  She’s one of your sisters, isn’t she?  I’m afraid I don’t remember her.  Bit of an amnesia-y situation.”

“Well, go on, then.  We can talk when you’re dressed.  Tell the TARDIS hi for me,” she said, smiling fondly in the direction of his ship.

“Right,” the Doctor said, and hastily escaped back indoors.

When he emerged again dressed in something more physically substantive, O and the little girl were both seated in the courtyard around a table laid with dishes of food and glasses of juice.  The sun was setting quickly, and strands of lights now dotted the courtyard walls and the branches of the olive trees with gold, glittering in the gathering dusk.

“All better?”  O asked, barely suppressing a smile.

“Uh, yep,” the Doctor replied, clearing his throat.  “Start again?”

O stood from her chair, the little girl watching them curiously from her seat whilst slowly stuffing a bit of cheese into her mouth.  O considered him for a moment, before a grin broke out on her face and she threw her arms around him.

“Hello again, O,” he said, smiling into her hair.  “Nice place you’ve got here.”

She laughed as she released him.  “Club card points; there isn’t much they won’t get you.  When you’ve had a benevolent guide to intergalactic shopping, of course.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” he scoffed.

“No,” she insisted, shaking her head, “it was everything.  You were kind to me.  You’re the second person who ever was, and the last one I ever expected to be.”

“Well, I’m always happy to defy expectations.”

“And it’s Olive,” she added.

“Sorry?”

“My name.  It’s Olive now.”

“Oh, like the—” he gestured to the nearest tree.  “That’s lovely.”

She smiled again, almost shyly.  “Breaking from the theme a bit, I know, but… I felt at home here from the first time I set foot on this planet.  The air, the sea, the sky… and olive trees everywhere.  I wanted to be someone new.  Someone _I_ got to choose.  It just seemed to fit.”

“It does,” the Doctor agreed.

“And look at you!  I always did used to get poor marks on facial memorisation,” she muttered, her expression turning grim for a moment, before she shook her head.  “How many changes since you last saw me?”

“Um,” he rubbed his chin.  “Seven, or thereabouts.”

“God, you burn through ‘em quick, don’t you?”

“Well, I’m trying my best to hold onto this one.  I haven’t got any more.”

She pressed her lips together thoughtfully.  “Here’s to making this one last, then.”

“And who is this?” the Doctor asked, grinning and nodding in the direction of the little girl still munching on her dinner at the table.

“This,” Olive said, beaming as she turned to face her, “is Willow.  My daughter.”

He nearly choked.  “She— she’s yours?”  His mouth was suddenly dry and there was a strange, tight feeling in his chest.

“Willow, honey, come and say hello to the Doctor.”

The little girl hopped dutifully down from her seat to join them, and the Doctor crouched to face her.

“Hi,” she said, twisting about in place, her blonde curls bobbing around her chubby cheeks.

“Hello,” he said, smiling tentatively.  “It’s very nice to meet you.  I’m…”  He stopped, a lump in his throat.  Well, he wasn’t anything, was he?  Maybe in another universe, another timeline, another life; a path that was never taken and now never could be.  Maybe then, there was another little girl with River’s hair and her brilliant smile.  And maybe…

“The Doctor is your uncle,” Olive said, breaking through the sudden fog in his brain.

He glanced sharply up at her.  “I— well.  I suppose I am,” he finished softly, feeling some of the weight on his hearts suddenly ease.  “How about that?  I don’t think I’ve ever really been an uncle before.  Not, um, properly.”

Willow smiled back at him and extended her arms.  His throat tight again and eyes suddenly stinging, the Doctor carefully lifted her up.

“Won’t you join us for dinner, Doctor?”  Olive asked as he stood with his niece, _River’s_ niece, in his arms.

“Of course,” he said, hoping she would ignore the sudden wobble in his voice.  “Love to.”

 

——

 

“Are you really telling me you’re not _wearing_ anything?” Donna hissed, giving him a wide berth as they followed a priestess down the central aisle of the cathedral.

“It’s polite!” the Doctor whispered, glancing to the far walls of the massive chamber.  They were lined with armoured soldiers standing guard.  That was… new.  “I kept trying to tell you,” he went on, tucking that concerning observation into the back of his mind, “if you’d just swallow the hologram projector, no one’ll be any the wiser!”

“If they’d be none the wiser, then why should I take off my clothes?!”

“We’re travelling through time and space!  It’s important to observe local customs!”

“I’d rather be sure no one’s _observing_ my ‘customs,’ thank you!”

“Doctor,” the voice of Tasha Lem broke through their hushed argument as they approached the dais at the centre of the cathedral.  “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t return.”

“Were you?  I was only just here last night.”

Tasha’s lips twitched for a moment, but she continued to watch him impassively as she descended the steps toward them, a deep blue robe billowing about her as she went.  “Yes, she did mention you do that.”

“What?  Who did?”

“And who is this?” Tasha asked, brushing past him to take Donna’s hand.

“Er, Donna Noble,” Donna said, glancing aside at the Doctor.  “Pleased to meet you, your… holiness?”

There was the briefest flicker of surprise in Tasha’s eyes, and she hesitated a moment before flashing a less than convincing smile.  “Donna,” she repeated warmly, “so good to have you with us.  Please, call me Tasha.”  She quickly released her and called to the nearest soldier.  “Guard, escort them to a private chapel.  I’ll be along shortly,” she added.  “You’ve just missed the mass; I need to change.”

“You’ve got soldiers in your church, Tasha?” the Doctor called after her.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” she called back over her shoulder, waving a dismissive hand as she strode away from them.  The priestess that had led them in hurried after her.

“Doctor,” Donna whispered, apparently forgetting her need to keep a safe distance, “that is the _second_ time in two days that a mad space woman has got that look on when she heard my name.  I do _not_ like that look.  What the hell is going on?”

“Don’t know,” the Doctor murmured, frowning, “but I’m aiming to find out.  If we’ve any hope of doing that, we have to make friends.  And I’m normally quite quick about that, but she’s really making me work for it.”

“Yeah, once again, it’s _really_ sounding like this is not a visit you needed my company for—”

“Oh— shut up, not like that!”

 

——

 

Alone in the quiet of the courtyard, the Doctor leaned his chair back and tipped his face up to the deep purple sky.  The breeze was beginning to pick up a hint of a chill, and constellations were emerging, one by one, in the growing dark.  He studied them and tried not to think.

“We’re in Andromeda,” he remarked when he heard Olive’s footsteps returning.

“Didn’t you know?” she asked as she sank back into her seat.

“The TARDIS brought me here.  I thought I was going to the Mainframe.”

“Oh, right,” she laughed.  “Well, I’ll have to thank your TARDIS.”  

They were quiet for a moment, while the Doctor’s eyes tracked the quick streaks of a meteor shower breaking through the atmosphere.  

“Did, um, Willow get to sleep alright?” he asked, tongue stumbling awkwardly over the mundane language of family life.  He was well out of practise.  Until today, it seemed he’d already had his last chance at a family.

“Mm, she was begging for more of your mad stories.  You might have to visit again; I’m not sure mine will do now.”

Throat tight, the Doctor didn’t manage to respond.  Another meteor shot across the sky.

“Your wife was here too, you know,” Olive said softly.

He snapped back to attention, wobbling a bit before his chair legs reconnected with the ground.  “When?”

“That must have been… god, maybe five years ago?  Sorry, time just gets away from you, doesn’t it?  That was before Willow, of course.”

He let out the breath he’d been holding, shaking his head and smiling wistfully.  “Willow, she, she looks so much like—”

“Like I’m going to look the next time round?”  Olive laughed.  “I suppose I have your lot’s funny genetics to thank for that.”

“Er, yeah, basically.  And um, her, uh…”

“The ‘D’ word?” she asked, before he could find a delicate way to proceed.  “Human.  Rubbish.  It wasn’t serious, so I chucked him out before she was born.  I mean, _human_ — it was bound to end badly, one way or another.  Better to cut it short when you’re having fun than wait about for the bitter end, don’t you think?”

The Doctor’s mind flashed with the image of a red sports car and a terraced house with a TARDIS blue door, sitting empty.   “I… haven’t figured that one out, yet,” he answered hoarsely.

“We’re happy here, anyway, just us two,” she went on.  “I wouldn’t want it any different.  Unless, of course, you know any other nice, attractive immortals?” she asked, grinning.

“None that I’d inflict on you.”  Olive laughed.  “So, then, Willow is…?” the Doctor trailed off again.

“I dunno.”  She flashed him a weak smile.  “Brooke keeps saying I should bring her round the Church, so they can see what she’s… made of, you know.  And, no doubt, try to recruit her and teach her all their psychic rubbish.  I’m just not ready.  Not to know how much she’s like me, or… how much she’s not.”

His chest ached, but he was useless with these sort of emotions, and there was a little blinking light going off again in his brain.  “So Brooke’s involved with the Church?” he asked.

Olive snorted.   _“Involved?_  Yeah, I’ll say; she bloody runs it.”

“Hang on,” he scrubbed at his forehead, “what year is it?  Tasha Lem is—”

“Oh, god, I know— don’t tell her I was calling her Brooke.  She gets _livid._  Just, old habits, you know.  When I hear ‘Mother Lem’ I still think… well, it gives me a headache, remembering it was really her all along.”  She laughed.  “I’m sure _you_ know how it is.”

The Doctor gaped at her, stunned.  “Shut up,” he finally managed to whisper.

Olive stared at him blankly.  “What?”

“You, you are telling me— you are truly, honestly telling me— that Tasha Lem is one of you?  Y-your sister?   _River’s_ sister?”

“Yeah?”

A little bubble of hysterical laughter escaped him.  

“You alright?” she asked, eyeing him with a mixture of amusement and concern.

“I, I’ve no idea,” the Doctor said breathlessly.  “But it’s a start.”

 

——

 

The guard departed silently, leaving them in a chamber not unlike the one Tasha had taken him to the last time.  But this time, there was a table set with food in the centre of the room.

“Well, there you are,” the Doctor said.  “Brunch.”

“Oh, you think you’re so clever.”  Donna narrowed her eyes at him even as she grinned.  “Don’t act like you planned this.”

“Of course not.  It’s a… fortuitous coincidence.  Kismet.  I wonder if that’s part of the doctrine here.”

“You don’t even know what sort of alien church we’re in?” she asked, pulling out a chair.  “What if it’s a crazy cult that poisons everyone?”

“Every religion’s a cult,” he said, joining her at the table.  “It’s just a matter of perspective, scale, and power.  But I’ll try the food first if you like.  I’m an excellent poison detector.”

“Go on, then.  Just don’t die on me.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”  The Doctor speared a piece of some sort of purple melon with his fork and popped it in his mouth.  “Water, fructose, fibres, vitamin A— pretty standard fruit.  No poison.”

“Yeah, and how about the blue stuff?” Donna asked, raising a glass and taking a suspicious whiff of the drink.

“Oh, I’ve had that one.  It’s not bad.  …Maybe a bit early for it.”

“Let’s leave the judging to the Church, shall we?”

He raised his hands in acquiescence and reached for a sausage.

“Oh, excellent,” Tasha said, sweeping into the room with the same regal air with which she always seemed to carry herself, “you’ve made yourselves at home.”  Her ceremonial robes shed, the heavy beaded skirts of a dark blue and black gown swirled about her feet as she moved.  “No, don’t get up,” she waved the Doctor down before he could stand, claiming her seat at the head of the table.

“You look lovely, Tasha,” he offered amiably.

She licked her lips and smiled as she poured herself a glass.  “Flattery will get you somewhere, but I’m not sure it’s where you mean to go.”

Donna sputtered into her drink.

“You going to tell me what the soldiers are about, then?” he pressed on.

She huffed.  “It’s always _questions_ with you, isn’t it?”

 _“Well_ — usually I like to think of myself as an ‘answers’ man, really.”  Donna snorted.  “But I seem to be fresh out of those at the moment.”

“Hmm,” Tasha took a sip of her drink and smiled.  “And do you love that or hate it?”  Her eyes sparkled in that field of deep blue.  “Not knowing?  Being totally beyond your depth?  The truth, now, and I’ll reward you with an answer too.”

The Doctor locked gazes with her; she didn’t flinch.

“Yes.”

Tasha broke into a wicked grin.  “Oh, it’s _all_ making sense now.”

“And my answer?”

“The soldiers have been part of the Church since before I came to power,” she said flippantly, taking a bite of her food.  “They’d run a bit afield, so I thought I’d bring them all back into the fold, make sure they were trained with the correct message.  Of course, quite a lot of them are going to get some idiot ideas and leave us one day, but,” she sighed, “there’s nothing to be done about that.”

“Seen the future, have you?” the Doctor asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

“I’ve done more than see it.  But then, so have you, Doctor.”

“Yes, but it rather comes with my job description.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

He glanced over at Donna, whose eyes were bouncing back and forth between them like her meal had come with a show.

“Well.  It’s… travelling the universe.  Moving through time and space, helping out, having adventures.  That sort of thing.”

“More or less,” Donna added, scrunching her nose.  “There’s a bit more tripping into it involved than he lets on.”

Tasha grinned at her.

“So your soldiers, what do you have them do?” the Doctor asked.

“Protect the universe, of course.”

“Yeah, and how do they do that exactly?”

“If you’ve only come to interrogate me, I don’t really see the point of this,” Tasha sighed.

“Oh, come now.  It’s just friendly curiosity, isn’t it?  I haven’t even asked you about…” he trailed off, already wishing he could stuff the words back in his mouth.

“No,” she agreed at length, looking down at the table.  “It’s true. You haven’t asked about River.”

Donna’s eyes widened and she gave the Doctor an accusatory look, which he pretended not to notice.  Yes, he might have forgotten to mention that bit.

“Is there anything you can tell me?” he asked, trying to keep the desperation from his voice, and not entirely succeeding.

“I can tell you you’ll see her again, and soon.  And if you’ve any sense at all, you won’t fight it.”  His hearts were suddenly tripping over themselves in his chest.  “So of course, you’ll do exactly that,” she added, rolling her eyes.

“You know her?” Donna asked.  “That woman, River Song?  From the Doctor’s future?”

“I know she’d have loved to know you better,” Tasha said, laying her hand over Donna’s.

“But you said… you said the Doctor will see her soon.”

“Are you some sort of prophet, Tasha?” the Doctor asked quietly.

Tasha’s sad eyes finally broke away from Donna, and she gave him a wan smile.  “If you like.”

She stood from the table, sweeping across the room to retrieve an ornate vessel from a shelf inlaid in the the wall.

“What’s that?” the Doctor asked, as she returned to the table and cleared a place for it.

“Incense.”

“Don’t you need a light?” Donna asked, meeting the Doctor’s eyes over the table.

“It’s digital.”

Smoke curled out of the intricately carved burner, filling the room with a warm, earthy aroma.

“But… I can _smell_ it!” Donna said.

“You’re inside the Mainframe, my dears.  What’s physical and what’s digital?  It’s all integrated here.  I’m sure the Doctor is familiar.”

“It’s… it’s like the Matrix,” the Doctor muttered, looking at her with wide eyes.  “People can enter or… the data can manifest.”

“Clever boy,” she cooed.  “Your people, the Time Lords.  What was their business?”

He gaped at her.

“It’s rhetorical; I know the answer.  I’m sure Donna would like to be on the same page.”

“They… they regulated the web of Time.  Established fixed events.  Prevented paradoxes.  Basically thought they ought to be in charge of everything that ever happened or ever will.”

“And who do you suppose has taken up the mantle in their absence?”

“What— _you?”_ he sputtered.

“I’m… let’s say, uniquely qualified.  But not nearly as drunk on my own self-importance.  Mostly, Time proceeds as it should.  We don’t intervene unless it’s to prevent a catastrophic event.  You’re not the only one with an eye on the Universe, Doctor.”

“How— how long have you been doing this?  I would have seen you!  I would’ve known!”

“Our methods are subtle.  When we don’t want to be seen, we’re not seen.  When we don’t want to be remembered, we’re not remembered.”

“How do you— oh, Donna!”  He scrambled up from his chair and ran around to her side of the table, where she was slumped in her seat.

“She’s fine, Doctor.  She’s only sleeping.  I haven’t taken anything important from her.”  Tasha frowned at him, something unreadable in her eyes.  “I’ll leave that to you.”

The Doctor gathered Donna into his arms.  “I thought we were going to be friends, Tasha.  This isn’t… you can’t do things like this!”

“You wanted to hear Church secrets.  I’d never hurt her.  Actually, I’m pleased I was able to meet her.  But next time, if you must bring the kids, you’ll have to leave them at the kiddie table.”

“And what makes you so sure I’m coming back?” he snapped.

“Oh, Doctor.  I know you.  This was just a little taste.”  Her heels clicked across the polished floor as she turned and walked away from him.  “You can’t resist a good mystery.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Comments are the thing that makes my whole world go round and this fic keep being written, so I would love to hear what you think!


End file.
